


an ocean away

by smallredboy



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: ADHD Lafayette, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autistic James Madison, Established Relationship, Implied Teacher/Student Relationship, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Insomnia, Late Night Conversations, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Trans James Madison, Trans Marquis de Lafayette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 20:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18213299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: It's three in the morning for James, and it's nine in the morning for Lafayette.





	an ocean away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [washingtononyourside](https://archiveofourown.org/users/washingtononyourside/gifts).



> happy (early) birthday moonz!!! 
> 
> i decided to write for one of their favorite rarepairings with a good taste of Trauma(tm)
> 
> enjoy!

It’s three in the morning, and James hasn’t gotten a blink of sleep.

He’s been having a terrible day, and it doesn’t even seem to want to end. He’s all wrong, out and off, in the wrong place. Witherspoon’s voice rings in his ears, cracks him away from his bed and into the window. He has many stupid paranoid thoughts— no, Witherspoon would never come to his dorm, but it doesn’t stop him from checking his door is locked once, twice, three times. No, Witherspoon is only abusing him, but it doesn’t stop him from almost texting Aaron and asking him if he’s okay.

It’s three in the morning, and for his boyfriend, it’s nine.

Oh, Lafayette must be getting up. Something fills him up, his whole body, and he’s not sure if it’s warmth or dread. He should talk with Lafayette about this, about what’s going on, about how much he feels, about Witherspoon’s menacing smile and his pale, pale skin and the way he puts a hand on his hip that’s made him throw up after the fact more than once.

He’s aware Lafayette has a clue or two about this whole ordeal, of course— he’s not stupid, and neither is Lafayette. He notices how he frets over him, asks how classes are in his stupidly thick French accent. But he never talks about the elephant in the room— why is James like this, why is James in the verge of a nervous breakdown almost every single day.

Still, he goes for his phone, puts his headphones on.

_I need to call_

Laff is typing… _Good morning to you too, mon chéri_

He rolls his eyes and taps on the call button. He needs to not think, to listen to Lafayette’s rambling about his classes, about how Adrienne’s girlfriend is doing, about whatever the hell his boyfriend plans to go on and on about. It helps him not listen to his inner monologue, that eternal cycle of self-loathing and self-blame that won’t ever end.

“Morning,” Lafayette says, yawning. He can hear him walk. “I’m about to put my, uh, binder, you call it?”  
  
“Yes, binder. Stay safe, eight hours.”   
  
He laughs a little. “You too, when you wear it.” A pause. “Just a second.” 

Lafayette’s voice is soothing, and he hangs onto every word. Because the words are devoid of any cruel meaning, because the words aren’t like other people’s. He says them without thinking twice, he says them without missing a beat. It’s nice to have someone talk and talk and not stop to think if he should.

“Okay!” Lafayette exclaims after a few minutes. “I’m back now, flatter than ever.”

James laughs a little and lays down. “What are your plans for today?”  
  
“Well, I’m third wheeling for Adrienne and her girlfriend!” he exclaims— he can hear him walk. “It’s gonna be great! We’re going to this ice cream place in the city— I wish I could take you there!” 

“No chocolate ice cream,” he reminds him.

“No chocolate! You love vanilla because you’re boring and also allergic to chocolate!”  
  
James smiles a little. “Yeah.” 

“Why are you up at three in the morning? It’s three for you, right?”

He freezes a little and swallows. Lafayette can’t see him, it’s fine. He’s fine. “Couldn’t sleep.”  
  
Lafayette starts walking again, a door opens, a door closes, he stops walking. “James.”   
  
He’s never said his name quite so seriously before.

“Yeah?” he says. He can’t help but start chewing on one of his sleeves— a stim he does when he’s nervous. He hates it, hates when he leaves marks on his shirts, but he can’t help it much. He really needs to buy some stim toys from Lord knows where. Maybe Amazon.

“I’m— very worried. I get a clue and I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but I know there’s something going on with you, maybe at college, maybe not, I don’t know, but I just… I want you to be okay, mon chéri.”

James swallows. “I'm fine.”

“You’re not!” he exclaims. More pacing. “Please, talk to me. I want you to feel good, I want you to not be on the verge of a breakdown! It makes me so worried and so sad and I want to help.”

“Laf…” he starts, bites his lip. He doesn't know where he'd start, what he's supposed to say. There's so much he could say. “I…”

Lafayette draws in a breath. He can feel him trying not to ramble on and on about his worries, about his fears. About how much he wants to hold onto James and never let go.

He has yet to be able to make time to go visit him. Everything is fine when he's in France; Witherspoon is three thousand miles away from him, and Lafayette is there with him. He can actually touch him, trace circles around his skin, kiss him again and again until he’s sick of it and touch-averse.

“Take your time,” Lafayette tells him.

“Witherspoon,” he manages to croak out. “The president of Princeton.”

They stay more silent that they have in ages. He can’t see Lafayette, but he can picture him crystal clear— eyes wide, mouth open, anger taking him into a tight chokehold, pushing him into doing something irrational or stupid or yelling or crying. Lafayette isn’t the best at regulating his own emotions, they control him sometimes— a part of ADHD, he tells James.

“James,” he starts, “I’m so sorry.” A pause. More pacing. “Does he…?”  
  
He draws in a breath. “Yeah." He knows exactly what Lafayette means, but the actual words would send him into a breakdown. "Yeah.” 

“You should—”  
  
“I can’t,” James intercepts. The mere idea of reporting him makes him want to die. He doesn’t want the attention, the fact people won’t believe him, the fact people will say it’s his fault. That he should know better. That he should fight back. He tells himself all of those things enough. “I can’t tell anyone, Laf.” 

“You should.”  
  
“I should,” he concedes, “but I can’t.” 

The sound of something dipping into Lafayette’s body weight. Probably a couch. “I love you.”  
  
“Me too.”   
  
“Do you feel better?”   
  
“A little.”   
  
“Do you think you can sleep?”   
  
James stays quiet for a while at that question. He doesn’t know. His heart still beats too fast and he still is itching with the feeling of everything being wrong, but Lafayette knows. Lafayette knows what’s going on, and why he’s like this, and why everything is awful except him.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Can I stay on call with you while I try to?”  
  
Lafayette stands and hums. “Of course. I’ll just— keep going on about my day. Does that work?”   
  
James manages a weak smile. Sure, maybe he’ll get some decent sleep for the first time in a long, long while. “That works.” 

He listens to Lafayette talking to people animatedly (but not as bubbly as other days), he listens to him walk around town and go to his favorite café. He listens to Lafayette joking around with Adrienne; he listens to the start of Lafayette’s first class of the day.

He manages to fall asleep to the sound of his boyfriend scribbling notes down in his awful handwriting.


End file.
